


Drunk

by asgardianpirate



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, M/M, Modern Setting, fluff with minimal plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asgardianpirate/pseuds/asgardianpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers was drunk enough to pass out on the wrong doorstep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE THIS TROPE. One of Bucky's inner monologues is from a tumblr text post.

Bucky couldn't sleep. The third goddamn time in a week. He flung the blankets away and glared holes into the ceiling, silently cursing whatever deity up there that's responsible for rest and peace. Or _sleep_ , whatever. He dug his heels into his eyes, sighed a sigh of the weary and the pissed, and got up to dress himself in sweatpants and a hoodie. 

 

The chilly air of an April day at 3 am rid him of any sleepiness he still had left, and Bucky stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked aimlessly onto the street. Since his discharge from the army Bucky had not once slept through a solid eight hours, and he found himself growing increasingly familiar with the late-night-early-morning emptiness of his neighbourhood. Brooklyn felt like another city in at three o’clock in the morning, with its traffic lights changing without an audience. Bucky walked along the pavement feeling out of sync with the city he grew up in and returned to months ago, and wondered if his constant feeling of jetlag will ever go away. 

 

An hour later Bucky walked back to his apartment, only to find a very large man passed out on his doorstep. 

 

_This can’t be happening._ Bucky ran a hand down his face. 

 

“Uh, sir?” he tried. 

The man did not stir.

 

_Jesus Christ._

 

Bucky took several steps and crouched down to have a closer look. At the stranger lying unconscious in front of his apartment. 

 

“Hey —” 

 

The man turned his head and blurted out, “ _Shit_ —Sam ’m so sorry I promise I’ll be gone before 9 tomorrow—can you just lemme—” His breath smelled strongly of alcohol and Bucky wondered if this inebriated mess in front of him is the consequence of one hell of a party.

 

_Who the hell is Sam?_

 

“—crash.”

 

* * *

 

And that is how Bucky Barnes ended up with a very intoxicated stranger passed out in the middle of his living room. Moving him inside was a Herculean effort, given the fact the man was impossibly built. _Do you not know your shirt size or are you just doing the rest of the world a service?_ Bucky mused to himself while trying to drag the dead-drunk man inside so that he wouldn’t open the door next morning to find him frozen because Sam—whoever that was—couldn’t be there to let this guy _crash_. Bucky wondered if Sam had to do this a lot. Poor Sam. 

 

Bucky stood up and heard his spine crack. _Fucking heavy as hell._ _I’m a nice person, I don’t deserve this._ He contemplated moving the man onto his couch, but thought better of it when he saw that the man looked comfortable enough on the carpet and that trying to move him would probably result in injuries for both of them. He threw a blanket onto the man instead. 

 

_Please don’t puke on the carpet._ Was his last though before he went into his own bedroom and tried to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

Bucky was eating toast in a wrinkly old T-shirt when he heard a loud bang from the other room. 

 

“Ow _fuck_ —”

 

And then silence. 

 

Bucky shrugged and continued to eat his toast. 

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god I am _so sorry_ —” the man—Bucky realized crazily he didn’t even know the guy’s name yet—emerged from the living room looking like hell. His shirt was creased with two buttons missing, and there was rug burn on his entire left cheek. And one hell of a bed head. 

 

“I’m so sorry oh my _god_ I thought I was—I thought I found Sam’s apartment—”

 

“Sam?”

 

“Sam Wilson, living in 5B?” the guy looked bleary-eyed.

 

Ah _Sam of 5B._ Bucky remembered. He’d seen him go out running in colourful running shoes a couple of times—the man’s impossibly cheerful even at the ass crack of dawn. Bucky thought of Sam’s endless energy and bright humour and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. So this guy’s a friend of Sam’s, huh. He’s going to congratulate Sam on having such great friends the next time he sees him.

 

“That’s a floor above, buddy.”

 

“— _shit—_ ” _Drunk_ apparently had a potty mouth when he’s flustered. Bucky’s enjoying this. He’s terrible. 

 

“Look, man, it’s okay.” Bucky put down his toast, “We’ve all been there. You want some water?”

 

“…Yeah. Thanks.” the guy rubbed a hand down his face looking like he’s regretting every decision he’s made in the past 24 hours, “Water’d be great, yeah.” 

 

“Toast?”

 

The man ran a hand through his unsalvageable bed head and smiled dopily at him. 

 

_Aw Jesus._ Bucky had a type. And type is here sitting at his kitchen counter. 

He set down a stack of toast between him and the guy, who’s now looking slightly more awake. “I’m Bucky by the way. Bucky Barnes.” _and why were you passed out on my doorstep?_

 

“Oh um—Steve! I’m Steve. Rogers.” _Steve_ wore an expression mixed with apologetic and pained. Steve Rogers must have been _really_ drunk last night. “I’m a friend of Sam’s. Who I was going to uh, crash with. Last night.” 

 

“Yeah I figured. You said Sam when I tried to wake you up in front of my apartment.” Bucky buried his smirk in his toast, “You do that a lot? Crash with Sam?”

 

Steve turned red, “No I—it’s just that he said he’d personally decapitate me and stick it in his vegetable garden if I tried to drive drunk. His words.” 

 

“You snore.”

 

Steve turned impossibly redder. 

 

“Nah I’m just fucking with you. D’you want orange juice?” 


End file.
